Bones Never Lie (Temperance Brennan, #17)(35)

CHAPTER 15


I CHECKED WITH Larabee. He had no problem with my being away for a few days.

Before leaving the office, I booked two seats on the 8:25 nonstop to Pierre-Elliott-Trudeau. Then I phoned to arrange for cat care.

My neighbor was unavailable but suggested her granddaughter, Mary Louise Marcus, who lived just blocks from Sharon Hall. I called. Mary Louise was available, at a whopping ten bucks a day. She promised to come by at seven to meet me and Birdie.

On my way across uptown, I stopped at Bojangles’, Slidell’s favorite, and bought enough food for a family of six.

It was after two when I arrived at the LEC. Slidell was at the computer, lips pressed to his teeth, head wagging slowly from side to side. Tinker was sticking pins into a map of North Carolina spread on a corkboard that hadn’t been there before. Today he looked like someone sponsored by Wiseguys R Us. Black jacket, black shirt, shiny lavender tie.

Ryan was speaking on his mobile. I heard the name Manon, guessed he was trying to locate the Violette family. His quiet French rode on air brittle with suppressed hostility.

I tossed my jacket on a chair and waited. After concluding his call, Ryan briefed me.

Slidell had made zero progress with his license plate search. The guy in IT had recovered only snatches of data from Leal’s computer, none of it useful. Barrow was having no luck locating Nance’s laptop. The age-progressed image of Pomerleau wouldn’t be ready for days, maybe a week. Ditto DNA sequencing from the hair found in Leal’s trachea. The tox screen was going nowhere.

I placed my bags on the table. “How did Slidell react to the amelogenin shocker?”

“His commentary was unconstructive.”

“Lunch,” I announced.

Slidell’s eyes rolled up to peer at me over the screen. I could almost see the smell of deep-fried grease hit his olfactory lobes.

As I began spreading paper plates, plastic utensils, and cardboard cartons of chicken and sides, Slidell heaved to his feet. Behind me, I heard Tinker cross the room, keys jangling in a pocket or on a belt loop.

“We need to think about highways.” Tinker spooned mashed potatoes onto his plate, added gravy, slaw, and a biscuit. “Nance was dumped at Latta Plantation, not far off I-485.” To Slidell, “You gonna paw every piece?”

Slidell continued digging through the chicken, maybe even slowed, eventually emerged with two legs and two thighs.

Tinker stepped up and helped himself to a breast. Took a bite before continuing with his train of thought. “Gower was left just off a state highway, Vermont 14, I think Rodas said.”

“Pure genius.” Spoken through masticated drumstick. “We’ve determined that vics are transported by car. We can forget tossing all those choppers and yachts.”

I ignored Slidell’s sarcasm. “Koseluk was abducted in Kannapolis, Estrada in Salisbury. Both lie along the I-85 corridor.”

Tinker looked at me with his flat little eyes. Swallowed. “I’m having a hard time putting those two in the show.”

“Leal was found under I-485,” I added.

“Amelogenin says she’s not in there, either.”

“Not necessarily.”

Tinker did something that combined a shrug with a “Give it to me” finger curl.

“Pomerleau could have an accomplice. Or—”

Slidell cut me off, voice dripping with scorn as he addressed Tinker. “Low number of vics make it easier to tie the bow? Buff up the image?”

“Or perhaps you’re projecting, Detective. Talking about yourself,” shot back Tinker.

I feared the smart-ass tone would goad Slidell to smash Tinker’s plate up into his face, Stooges-style. I glanced at Skinny. His lower lids were crimped and twitching, sparkling grease coating his upper lip and chin.

“What the f*ck are you talking about?” Now Slidell was the recipient of Tinker’s flat-eyed stare. For a moment their gazes locked. Skinny turned away first. “That’s it. I ain’t working with this troll.” Wrapping his poultry in a napkin, Slidell strode from the room.

Tinker finished eating, wiped his hands digit by digit, and returned to his map.

I raised my brows at Ryan. He raised his at me.

I pointed at the chicken.

Ryan shook his head.

Realizing I’d never answered Slidell’s question about a cellphone for Nance, I asked Ryan if he’d come across any mention of one in the file. He had not.

While clearing the lunch debris, I told Ryan about our flight reservations. He hesitated a moment, then thanked me. Asked how much time we had. I suggested we leave the LEC by six. He nodded, grabbed his phone, and started punching digits.

Ryan hadn’t been back to Montreal since Lily’s death. I wondered what storm was swirling inside him. Didn’t ask.

After positioning one of the empty boards between Nance and Koseluk, I pulled the ME107-10 file from my purse and began posting information. Biological profile. Estimated time of death. Date of discovery. Location. Scene photos of the skeleton and associated articles.

Tinker abandoned his pushpins to eyeball my display. Which was meager. “Seriously?”

“Clothing was still in place on some of the bone clusters. Missing articles were probably dragged off by scavengers.”

Tinker nodded, noncommittal.

“A lot fits the pattern.”